


Begin Again

by Whatisalilac



Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:20:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23015401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whatisalilac/pseuds/Whatisalilac
Summary: The wasteland asked too much of its inhabitants, bending them until they broke. And they all broke.
Relationships: Female Lone Wanderer/Charon
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	1. Retreat

The bar was insufferably hot. It always was; nothing about the dismal place ever changed. Not the people he saw in and out every day, not his slimy employer, and not the dissatisfaction Charon felt at being stuck in the damn corner. He shifted his weight, feeling damp with sweat. He itched to pull at the collar of his shirt, but to do that would be to admit discomfort, and that was something he could not do. To care for something so superficial as his own comfort was a weakness. It was a shortcoming that had never quite been beaten out of him, though he did a good job ignoring the wants that pulled at his mind.

He watched the few patrons of the bar carefully, trying to focus on his work. Not that there was much for him to do; Besides Patches, there was hardly a problem he had to deal with most days. It hadn’t always been like this, working for Ahzrukhal. He’d been ambitious when he’d first acquired Charon’s contract years ago, and he’d properly utilized his talents back then. There wasn’t a dealer or a smuggler who didn’t fear Ahzrukhal and his ever-loyal bodyguard in the Capital Wasteland. And maybe it made him a bad person to enjoy the work he did, be he was a weapon; he was meant to fight, meant to _kill_ , and he did it well. He didn’t relish dealing with the few innocents that caught his employer's ire, but it was his duty. Was. Now? Besides the petty runs to collect on small debts, the corner was his life.

God, he loathed being stuck in a corner.

Charon watched as patrons slowly filtered out of the bar; it was getting late, he supposed. Hard to tell with no access to the outside, and no clocks anywhere in slight. Time may as well not exist, he lived the same day over and over again. He watched Patches walk up to the bar, staggering slightly. He didn’t wait for Ahzrukal to call him over, he knew this dance well enough. His employer would have no problem letting the drunkard drink himself to death, but Patches never quite had enough caps for that. 

Patches was just about to get into his usual spiel, ‘ _c’mon, jus— just one more_ ’, Charon could practically hear him saying it, but he didn’t get the chance this time, because Charon had him by the back of his shirt, and shoved him toward the door. Patches protested, as he always did, incoherently babbling, but Charon had him out the door and on his ass for anyone who cared to look. No one ever did. 

Except, someone was looking this time. Watching just across the way, in front of the door to Carol’s, a woman watched him. Well, hardly a woman, really, more of a girl. Maybe 17 or 18. But what really drew his eye was that she wasn’t a ghoul. His eye twitched slightly, betraying his surprise, but there was hardly a time when a smoothskin would waltz themselves into Underworld, and rarer still they’d spend the caps to stay overnight. He went back into the bar. She was unusual, but she wasn’t his concern.

* * *

Elle hadn’t had any real expectations for the world outside the vault; sure, people talked about what it was like, said it was a wasteland full of nothing but mutants and the like, but they’d never been outside. They didn’t really know. 

Coming across Megaton hardly a mile from the entrance to the vault gave her hope; maybe the world was a wasteland, but people lived mostly okay. 

‘Course, that wasn’t true, and it didn’t take her long to see it.

Colin Moriarty was the first person to show her what the wasteland would expect of her if she wanted to survive, but she refused to bend to the cruelty of it. She wouldn’t kill for him, and she’d be damned before she paid him for information about her father. He couldn’t be the only person in the wasteland to have seen her father. And, if what Moriarty said was true? About herself and her dad being from the wasteland and not from the vault, then chances are he was at least _alive_ , wherever he was.

He wouldn’t have left without a plan.

She hated stumbling around the world blindly, directionless, but it was necessary. The more settlements she came across, the better her chances of picking up a lead. She’d decided to head into DC, figuring there might be a clue to her father’s whereabouts there. Except she hadn’t anticipated the metro tunnels being so god damn confusing. She had gotten turned around somewhere, or she’d gone too far. She wasn’t sure. She’d thought she was going to come out somewhere near the GNR building, but she came out on the mall. It was dusk. More time had passed when she was underground than she thought. It was a hard pill to swallow; outside the vault, she really had no sense of direction. Spending 19 years in a small, enclosed space where she knew where everything was hadn’t allowed her to develop one.

Elle thought for a moment it’d be a good idea to look around the mall, but only a moment because in the next she was being shot at by super mutants. It was always super mutants. She hardly thought about what she was doing, and instead of running back into the metro station like someone who had any sense of self-preservation, she ran down the ruined sidewalk. It was a miracle she didn’t get hurt; Elle thanked every deity she could think of that muties liked smacking people with nailboards more than shooting because most of them were running at her, only one or two were firing guns in her direction, and their aim was nothing short of terrible, especially since it was getting dark.

She chided herself for running, feeling her lungs burn. 

“Where,” She puffed, “where the fuck am I going to go?” She said, talking to herself. She took cover behind a piece of concrete that jutted up out of the ground. She’d learned in the past months just how small she could make herself if it meant being shielded from a hail of bullets. She looked around, trying to get her bearings, trying to see where she could go from where she was. Someone was watching her.

A woman, a ghoul, was lazily smoking a cigarette, watching her get shot at. She had a gun strapped to her; either a wanderer like her, or she was guarding something. But Elle could see something else, behind the woman. Another metro station. Elle heard a bullet whiz by her, too close to her head for comfort. _I can’t stay here_ she thought. She took a breath, carefully maneuvering herself so she was crouched, but ready to move. Another bullet whizzed by, she could feel the air move next to her face. She ran. Right towards the ghoul. 

She could hear a mutie yell its battle cry somewhere too close to her, and she felt a bullet graze her left calf as she ran, but she kept going. The ghoul had moved behind the corner she’d been occupying, avoiding the veritable hailstorm of bullets she was bringing with her. Elle ducked down and slid behind the corner, coming face to face with the woman. Well, as face to face as they could be, with her still on the ground. She was still nonchalantly smoking her cigarette.

“You oughta get inside, tourist,” The woman said, pointing a thumb at the building behind her. She stuck out a hand to help Elle up, and she gladly took it.

“Tourist?” Elle asked, dusting herself off. “Where am I?” She said, looking up at the building. She could still hear the mutants; they were still coming. She decided she didn’t care much where she was, because anywhere was better than the spot she was occupying now.

“Welcome to Underworld, tourist. Name’s Willow. Now, go on. The muties won’t bother me, but you?” She huffed a laugh.

“Thanks,” She said, “I’m— I’m Elle,” She said hastily. 

“Nice to meet you, Elle. Now, really, go. Underworld’s right through the door under the skull. Can’t miss it.”

Elle nodded, heading into the building. She walked through the reception area and into the next room; her calf was burning where she’d been grazed by a stray bullet. Old dinosaur bones littered the floor, and just as Willow promised, a giant skull overlooked the room, with a set of double doors underneath it. Elle’d heard about Underworld from Gob, he didn’t talk about it much, but she breathed a sigh of relief at knowing she was somewhere safe, at least. And she’d keep an eye out for Carol; Gob had asked her to, and where would she be without him?

She pushed through the doors, hoping there’d be somewhere she could get a bed for the night.

Ghouls milled about, a few shooting her curious looks, but most of them ignored her. She shifted her weight as she looked around, her calf aching now. She walked up to the person closest to her, intending to ask about a bed.

“You lost kid?” The ghoul said as she walked up to him.

“No, why?” She said, raising an eyebrow, though she was, indeed, lost.

“Most humans don’t take too kindly to us ghouls. Lotsa ghouls don’t take too kindly to humans either,” The man said, shrugging.

“Oh,” 

“Don’t look so concerned, smoothskin, s’ long as you stay out of trouble you won’t have any problems here. M’names Winthrop,” The ghoul, Winthrop, said.

“I’m Elle,” She replied, extending a hand. Winthrop looked at her curiously but took her hand, giving her a firm handshake.

“Is there someplace around here that I could get a bed for the night?” She asked.

“Yeah, you go right up the stairs here?” He gestured to a staircase behind him, to her right, “That’s Carol’s place. You can get a hot meal and a bed there. If you’re looking for a doctor, the Chop Shop’s straight ahead, in the back. You look like you might need one,” Winthrop said, looking down at her leg. What she’d thought was just a graze appeared to be a bit more than that, and blood had soaked through her pant leg. Elle looked at the spreading stain, detached.

“Thanks, Winthrop,” Elle said, looking back up at him. 

“No problem, smoothskin,” Winthrop said. Elle decided to take his advice and head towards the Chop Shop to get patched up. She liked the name; sure, it was a bit morbid, but it had a sense of humor about it. She hoped the doctor’s demeanor mirrored the name of their workplace. 

She pushed open the door to the Chop Shop and took a look around. She saw who she assumed was the doctor standing in front of a window. As she walked up, she saw two feral ghouls in the next room over. She paused, looking at them. They weren’t just regular run-of-the-mill ferals, they were god damn _glowing_. The Doctor turned around and nearly ran into her. He jumped back, then took a moment to compose himself. 

“Don’t worry about the ferals; they’re completely contained,” The Doctor said, seeing where she was looking.

“Yes, but… why?” She asked, gesturing to the window.

“I’m the foremost authority on Ghoul evolution. I want to know what makes us tick,” He said, looking toward the window. “Something doomed us to this rotting from, and I aim to discover what it is,” He continued, talking to himself more than her. 

“Doctor Barrows at your service. What brings you to the Chop Shop?” He said, turning back to Elle. She twisted her leg so he could see her calf, her pants now plastered to her leg with blood. Elle smiled faintly.

“Tangled with some super mutants,” She said. Barrows nodded.

“Sit down so I can get a proper look,” He said. Elle complied, and 50 caps later the pain in her leg had subsided considerably. She’d be sore, as stimpaks could only do so much, but she was back on her feet.

“That should do it. You need anything else?”

“No, I’m good. Thanks, Doc,” Elle replied.

“Alright. Be careful out there,” He said. “And if you ever feel like lending a hand, I can always use fresh human samples,” Barrows finished with a crooked smile. Elle laughed half-heartedly, not entirely sure if he was serious or not. She bid him goodbye, leaving the Chop Shop.

Elle headed up the stairs, going to Carol’s. She eyed the sign outside the door that said ‘Carol’s Place’, and she headed in. She’d had a long day.

* * *

Carol was a sweet woman; she was ecstatic when Elle told her how Gob was doing. She hadn’t told her the whole truth, though. Informing the kind woman that her adoptive son was, in essence, a slave, would have been crushing, and she’d seemed so happy to hear he was well. Her elation was bittersweet and tugged at a longing Elle’d had as long as she could remember. 

Carol told Elle that she could get some food from Greta, her partner, and Elle quickly did. The food she had stocked in her bag was fine, but the prospect of a hot meal was too alluring for her to ignore, though she was starting to run low on caps. She ate her food slowly, savoring it. If her mental math was correct, she had enough caps to spend one more night in Underworld, and a little more for supplies, which she desperately needed. She was out of stimpaks, rad-x, radaway, was running low on ammo, and had one vial of med-x left. She was saving the med-x for as long as she could; the painkiller could end up being the only thing between her being stuck somewhere injured, and being able to get herself help. She wouldn’t use it if she could help it.

Elle tried to settle in, intending to try and get as much sleep as she could. She hadn’t slept properly in days and wanted to take full advantage of being somewhere safe. Except, of course, she just couldn’t relax. She checked her pip-boy. The time was ticking away, but she wasn’t any closer to sleep. Every noise drew her attention; a quiet whisper, the rustle of fabric, a cough. She rolled her eyes at her own paranoia, but she couldn’t shake it. And time was passing by.

Eventually, she decided to walk around some; tire herself out maybe. Work off some of her nervous energy. She quietly got up from the bed, wincing at how loud it creaked in the near silence of the room. She moved silently to the door, slipping out. She took a breath.

There were still people milling about, despite the late hour. Fewer than earlier, but enough. Elle listened to the quiet murmur of voices, all coalescing into an entrancing ambiance. Elle felt the tension leave her body as the white noise calmed the irrationality of her own mind. She was in control again. She let her thoughts wander, but she was pulled from her reverie by a quiet commotion across the way. 

A ghoul was being thrown out on his ass from (what she assumed) was the bar. The man doing the throwing was much larger than the man who was now seated on the floor. Elle could see from where she stood that he struck an intimidating figure; though there appeared to be no malice in his actions. Just part of the job. He caught Elle watching him, holding her stare for a moment, then promptly went back into the bar. The man, who she assumed was drunk, had graduated from sitting on the floor to laying there instead.

Elle glanced around; either no one had seen what happened or no one cared. 

“Probably happens a lot,” She mumbled to herself. She scrunched up her nose, deciding she couldn’t just ignore the man who was lying on the dirty floor. She went down the stairs, crossing over to the other side of the concourse, and up the other set of stairs. The ghoul was babbling to himself, punctuating his nonsense with the flourish of a hand. Elle knelt down next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder, trying to gently focus his attention.

“Are you okay?” She asked. 

“W— who, me?” The ghoul asked, looking confused. “Yeah...yeah… I’m fine, I j— I just,” he trailed off, mumbling to himself. He was looking around, as if he’d forgotten Elle was there. She put a hand on his face to turn him back towards her, to pull his attention back.

“Can’t lose any more…parts. Doc, Doc won’t…he’s tired....puttin’ ‘em back on me,” The ghoul finished.

“Can you get up?” She asked.

“S— sure can,” He replied, immediately going to sit up; though he was flat on his back faster than Elle could steady him. He groaned.

“One more...one more time,” He said. He tried to sit up again, and Elle put a hand on his back to help steady him. She took him by the arm to keep him grounded while he stood up; he only staggered a little bit.

“You’re new here,” The ghoul said, “You must be since you’re talk— talking to me,” He turned to look at her properly, squinting.

“I’m Patchwork… or just ‘Patches’ if… if you like that,” He said with a lopsided smile. Elle returned the expression.

“Alright then Patches, I’m Elle. Are you okay?”

“Yes...yessir,” Patches said, swaying. “I need...need to lie down,” he continued, quietly. He started to walk away from Elle, but he looked to be in danger of falling down the flight of stairs he was headed towards. Elle quickly was at his side again, hand on his arm to steady him.

“Why don’t I walk you back,” Elle said. Patches looked at her, squinting again, but ultimately he shrugged, using her to steady himself. 

Elle hadn’t gotten many looks when she had first walked through Underworld, but now, with Patches leaning against her, it seemed the eyes of everyone still awake were on the two of them. She tried her best to ignore it, thankful for Patchwork’s incoherent musings next to her; she could focus on the disordered vocalizations instead of the eyes focused on her.

When the two reached Patchwork’s bed, he unceremoniously plopped himself face down onto it, drawing a choked noise from Elle.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself that way, y’know,” She said, brows furrowed. She could hear him say something, but it was muffled by the mattress he was laying on. Elle sighed, patting his arm.

“I’ll see you around, Patchwork,” She said quietly. She walked back up to Carol’s, noting that most of Underworld’s inhabitants weren’t watching her anymore. A few glanced her way, sure, but she was used to that. Anyone with a pip-boy on their wrist got side-long glances like that. She slipped back into her rented bed, and found this time around, she could sleep just fine.


	2. Reckoning

Patchwork wasn’t in the bar that evening, which was the first of a few things that would be out of the ordinary for Charon’s night. Even when Patches didn’t have any caps, he’d make an appearance; he knew he wouldn’t be served, but the addiction demanded it.

Charon heard the door to the bar, glancing over to see who it was, assuming it was a regular. It was not.

It was the smoothskin from the night before. Charon was surprised to see her still in Underworld. She walked over to the bar, sitting herself down right in front of an all-too-eager Ahzrukhal. She didn’t seem to be at all fazed by his employer’s… disposition. She looked relaxed under Ahzrukhal’s predatory gaze.

 _Girl’s going to get herself in trouble_ , he thought. She was either recklessly confident or recklessly stupid.

The most prominent thing was that she looked _healthy_. She looked soft, like she’d never known hunger a day in her life. Her hair looked dirty, but her face was clean. Most wastelanders didn’t bother keeping so clean, especially the kind that wandered.

A vault dweller?

It had to be, no one who lived their life in the wastes looked like that. She shifted in her seat, and he spotted it. The pip-boy on her arm.

Definitely a vault dweller, then. 

Charon tried to be discreet as he watched her. She ordered a drink, but still talked to Ahzrukhal after receiving said drink. People didn’t talk to him unless they had business. He looked away, scanning around the bar, observing the usual patrons. He couldn’t allow himself to be distracted; though a vault-dwelling smoothskin with the moxie to leisurely chat with Ahzrukhal was the most interesting thing to happen in… a very long time.

He fought the urge to look back to the bar. He chided himself. His interest didn’t matter, it had no bearing on his orders. He stole a glance anyway, just in time for the vaultie to look right back at him. He held her gaze. She didn’t look scared, and she didn’t look disgusted. She looked _curious_. The vaultie turned back to Ahzrukhal, continuing with whatever the two had been on about. He watched his employer give the girl a sickly sweet smile. Charon looked away. The two conversed like old friends, and he wondered if perhaps they _were_ , but that wasn’t possible. Charon had worked for Ahzrukhal for longer than this girl had been _alive_.

He watched the other regulars of the bar, but out of his periphery, he could see the vaultie down the rest of her drink, then get up from her barstool. He didn’t move to look at her, but she placed herself in his line of sight as she strode out of the bar, pausing at the door to look his way. It struck him again; she didn’t look afraid of him, as most did. 

_She is foolish then_ , He thought.

* * *

Elle woke later than normal; she bolted awake, worried she was late for something, before realizing where she was. She had no place in particular to be, though she did need to get up. She’d take it easy, rest her leg, but she had to get a few supplies before she left Underworld tomorrow. Elle had plans in DC. Not grand plans, but she owed Gob a favor. 

Elle grabbed her bag from where it sat next to the bed, and walked down to Tulip’s shop to pick up a few things; water and bullets, namely. She debated if it was worth spending nearly the last of her caps on a single stimpak. She sighed, knowing that she’d need it, and bought it. She had enough caps left to share a beer with Gob when she got back to Megaton, and that was it. _Hopefully I can scavenge some good stuff while I’m out here_ , she thought. She shoved her supplies into her bag and walked back the way she came.

Elle spotted a familiar face in the concourse as she walked; Patchwork was up and about, still looking quite dazed, though he was upright at least. 

“Patches, hey! How're you feeling?” She greeted him. Patches nearly did a double-take. He couldn't remember the last time he’d seen a smoothskin around Underworld, and it had been even longer since one greeted him so cheerfully. Or greeted him at all. In fact, even most Underworld residents didn't talk to him. 

“Do I...know you?” Patchwork asked, feeling as though he was missing something.

“We, uh, met last night? I helped you to bed. You— well you sort of got thrown out of the bar.” 

“I'm... I’m sure I was. But you... don't remember you,” He said, squinting at her.

“Oh,” She said, suddenly feeling as though she’d created a very awkward situation to be in. She cleared her throat and continued. 

“Well, uh, I'm glad to see you're feeling better today,” She finished.

“...Thanks,” He replied. Elle was about to excuse herself, but Patchwork spoke up first. 

“Why...why help...me?” He asked, in a voice that made her chest hurt.

“You... looked like you needed help,” She said, softly. She held his gaze a moment before speaking again. 

“Um, I'll see you around Patches,” Elle said. She walked away, leaving a confused Patches behind, and he watched her walk away. He wanted a drink. But… maybe not today. 

Elle walked back up to Carol’s place, no plan in her head for the rest of her day, though it felt odd for her to do nothing. Even if she needed the downtime to rest her leg. She shifted the weight of her bag on her shoulder, coming to a compromise.

She sat in her little rented bed and organized her supplies; packing, unpacking, then repacking her bag over and over. She’d underestimated what she had been up against last time she went into the metro system. That was a mistake that she would not repeat. 

After organizing her bag within an inch of its life, she pulled up a map of the area on her pip-boy. She knew where Galaxy News Radio was. Sort of. She knew the general _vicinity_ of where it was. She’d seen an arrow crudely painted on the wall telling her she was headed to the mall shortly before she’d popped out of the metro system and into the middle of a mutant warzone. She could only hope there were more signs down there that she’d missed the first time, ones that'd point her in the right direction. 

Elle put her pip-boy down, sighing. Going back down there was going to be a nightmare. She could hear Carol and Greta in the other room, talking. She thought for a moment about getting herself a hot meal, but remembered the pitiful amount of caps in her bag. She opted instead to eat some food she’d already had packed in her bag. Not quite as satisfying, but it was a meal. She pulled a copy of Dean’s Electronics out of her bag. There wasn’t much left for her to do, she figured she might as well spend her time learning to take care of the guns she had come to rely so heavily on.

* * *

Elle checked the time on her pip-boy. It was getting late now, and she knew it was probably best she turn in for the night. There was nothing else to be done for her departure in the morning, though instead of calling it a night, she found herself outside the doors to The Ninth Circle. 

Elle wasn’t much for drinking, but she’d made a habit of stopping into Moriarty’s nearly every night she was in Megaton to see Gob. The price for being able to sit and talk with her friend was a drink; Moriarty had no qualms about kicking her out of his bar if she wasn’t spending. She’d come to associate the taste of beer with good company, and maybe she was looking for a little bit of home in the bottom of a bottle. 

She stuck a hand in her pocket, running her fingers over her remaining caps. She knew it wouldn’t be worth spending them. It was a stupid idea she had in her head, really. But she opened the door to the bar anyway.

Elle only took a moment to take in the bar; there wasn’t much to look _at_. She could see a tall figure out of the corner of her eye. _Probably the bouncer from last night_ , she thought. She strode over to the bar, settling down on a barstool right in front of the bartender.

“Well now, lookee here. Got us a smoothskin that I ain't ever seen before. I'm Ahzrukhal, and this... this is the Ninth Circle. You need anything, you just let me know,” The bartender, Ahzrukhal, said. Elle gave him her sweetest-looking smile. He reminded her of Moriarty, and Elle could already tell she didn’t like him, but she was going to endeavor to stay out of trouble. Manners first. She ordered a beer, handing over the last of her caps, save one. Elle could laugh, one single cap to her name.

Ahzrukhal made light conversation, obviously enjoying her company. She could not say the same about him, though she nodded and smiled at all the right times, playing along. She sipped her beer and thought of home. The Ninth Circle was a mirror to Moriarty’s; Elle pitied anyone who had to work for the man in front of her. And, speaking of—

“Who's the tall guy in the corner?” She asked. She knew he was a bouncer; that much was obvious. But Underworld got few visitors; the bar couldn’t get much business outside of regulars. She couldn’t imagine he did much other than _stand_ there. Throwing Patchwork out was probably the most he did in a day. Why Ahrukhal would keep him in his employ, and why he would _stay_ in Ahzrukhal’s employ, she didn’t understand.

“That's Charon. Let's just say, well, he's a very loyal employee. Don't mess with me, and he won't mess with you,” He answered, a smug smile on his face.

“Oh yeah? What's that mean, loyal employee?” She asked; though she had an idea of what he meant already.

“I hold his contract which makes me his employer. He will do what I ask, without question,” He said. He leaned forward onto the bar, getting far too close to Elle for her own comfort.

“You see,” He continued, “Charon grew up around a very interesting group of individuals. They... well I guess you could say they brainwashed him,” He chuckled.

“He is absolutely loyal to whoever holds his contract. Unfailing, unflinching, until the day that employment ends. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure that he holds no end of animosity towards me. But, so long as he is my employee, he is as gentle as a teddy bear,” Ahzrukhal said, looking quite pleased with himself.

She twisted in her seat to look at him, in the corner. He was looking back at her. ‘Gentle as a teddy bear’? Ahzrukhal kept talking, so she turned back to give him the impression she was still listening.

“So, he’s a slave then?” She asked, sipping her beer. Ahzrukhal scoffed.

“No he is _not_. Ma’am, you insult me. Slavery is an abomination, I do not believe in it,” he said; Elle could tell he was trying to sound sincere, but it came off as anything but. She fought the urge to roll her eyes as he continued.

“To force another person into bondage is _unthinkable_. Chains are earned, never forced. Charon made the choices that landed him in my employ, and the matters of our contract are between him and I. No one else.” 

She nodded and gave him a smile, changing the subject. The man in front of her was as odious as Moriarty, the only difference being that Ahzrukhal was talking to her. She saw no reason to piss him off (like she had Moriarty) and have herself unceremoniously thrown out by Charon. She quickly finished her drink and excused herself, because it _was_ late after all, and she was heading out in the morning. She walked toward the door, pausing only a moment to look again at the man trapped in the corner. His face was stony, betraying nothing to her. She pushed through the door.

* * *

Of course, it didn’t escape Ahzrukhal’s notice that the vaultie had some sort of interest in Charon, though his thoughts on _why_ she was interested were wrong. A narrow-minded man can only view the world out of his own lens; and in his mind, caps kept the world turning. Perhaps a business opportunity would present itself; after all, a defenseless vaultie needed protection from the world. Perhaps he was right about that, but as Elle walked through the concourse back to the bed waiting for her in Carol’s place, the only thing she could think of was Charon’s freedom.

She knew she could not buy his liberation now, but she would be back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'd think with the quarantine going on I'd get more done but somehow it's been the opposite. Sorry this took so long guys. I appreciate all the feedback, I love reading your comments! Also, I apologize for any spelling errors. I feel like I always miss a few. 
> 
> Anyway,I hope you like this chapter, and can I just say, it's a crime you can't help Patches sober up in FO3.

**Author's Note:**

> This is gonna be a long one, so buckle up boys


End file.
